When I took this picture, I was somewhat spooked by this place. The photo is processed as a black and white, but the true image of this hotel was a sanitary green.

I remember walking down the street with my camera in tow, hanging from my neck, and being mystified when I came upon this mysterious residence. Something about it captivated my interest. I felt compelled to photograph it. It was almost as if the hotel was speaking to me.

I stood there for a few minutes, looking around, noticing the vacancy of the windows, the sadness of the structure, and the beauty of the architecture. I suddenly wanted to be a visitor there and it made me wonder, almost feel sad, who had visited this structure in the past. What stories did it hold?

I continued to stare into the empty windows, almost seeing those who had been inside long ago. Were there ghosts? Did something tragic happen inside? Or did it only hold happy memories of long ago vacations with children running up and down the halls, searching for a game to play, or perhaps a poolside cabana with their parents, to sit and read, while resting from a long week’s work in the city.

We will never know, nor will we ever be able to visit again. The hotel, along with the other structures on that street, in Palm Springs, have since been torn down. All we have now are memories and the photographs that have once captured the hotel’s ambiance and mystery.

Jack eagerly pulled January up and onto his lap. She straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck, freely and passionately kissing him, taking him in…with every breath, the scent of him, the touch of his face, as her hand gently touched his hair and cheeks, his mouth.

“I will do my best to never hurt you. You are so beautiful, in every way.”